(As always, for Laura)
She munches slowly a morpheme served up as he hungers for her taking the chance to sally the edges of abstraction as antidote to confusion and angst his struggle is for memory flowing through desire released in language initiating possibilities how will she receive my scribblings what will they mean is communication possible I recall her inner beauty standing now solitary I listen to the stillness of my world missing her laughter lacking a singing voice or a painter’s eye I offer up words as a humble offering walking alone along boulevards of color and light I play word games gathering winged thoughts that circle above me turning eros into pages that her passionate eyes might touch as time skips a beat, if, as William Burroughs states, language is a virus, then I am going to create an epidemic
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